


Heart Made Of Glass

by DefaltManifesto



Series: Outside I Can Fight My Fear [1]
Category: 2NE1, Big Bang (Band), Winner (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Femdom, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Multi, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/pseuds/DefaltManifesto
Summary: The wax of her lipstick lingers on Minho’s lips in the morning, but the memory of the way she’d tied him up with his own tie and rode him, edged him until he cried, that lingers for far longer.





	Heart Made Of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote part 2 first. After writing that I realized I wanted to write a prequel and a sequel so here's the prequel! I'll probably churn out a sequel next week. Hopefully maybe. You can find me on twitter @ Defaltmanifesto. Comments are loved. Title from Lovely by Billie Eilish. Thanks to the people at the K-Fic discord for running sprints with me and thanks to Eevee for giving this a quick read through.

It’s Chaerin first. The wax of her lipstick lingers on Minho’s lips in the morning, but the memory of the way she’d tied him up with his own tie and rode him, edged him until he cried, that lingers for far longer.

 

-.-

 

For nearly a year, Minho thinks that’s it – a one night stand that rocked his world and ruined all other such encounters for the rest of his life. He pens too many songs about it and leaves them in a journal he hopes Seunghoon never finds. Jinwoo would ignore it and Seungyoon would be too embarrassed to mention it. Seunghoon though? He wouldn’t be able to resist teasing him for the obvious pining and that would turn into an interrogation of _who_ and well, Minho’s never been great at lying.

The only person he tells is Jiho, and even that’s only because he gets chatty when he’s drunk.

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Jiho says, taking Minho’s empty shot glasses and putting them in his sink. “I mean, as far as crazy sex goes that sounds pretty vanilla.”

Minho frowns at the counter. “I cried.”

“Good tears though,” Jiho says. “It’s not that deep.”

“But it felt so good, Minho says. “Like there was this moment where I stepped caring if I even came, I just wanted her to keep telling me I was doing a good job.”

It’s hard to admit, even with the alcohol to smooth the way and the time to get over how great it had been. When he looks up at Jiho, he’s expecting judgment. He should really know better by now. Jiho just nods.

“You should talk to Jiyong-hyung,” Jiho says.

Minho squints. “You haven't drank all night.”

Jiho rolls his eyes. “I don’t have to be drunk to suggest talking to Jiyong about this. I’ve… _heard_ things.”

“Heard what things?” Minho asks.

“I guess he and Chaerin have an arrangement of some kind.”

Jiho keeps talking but Minho can’t hear anything beyond the blood rushing through his ears. He slept with _Jiyong’s_ girlfriend. Or partner? Or whatever. Either way he’s _fucked_ if Jiyong ever finds out. Would it be better if Jiyong hears it from him?

“Minho, you alright?”

“Huh?” Minho looks up from the counter, frowning at Jiho’s look of concern. “I think my music career is over. I can’t believe I fucked Jiyong’s girlfriend.”

"Okay, that’s a bit of an overreaction,” Jiho says. “It’s not like that. I mean, not from what I’ve heard anyways. You should just call them, or her.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

 

-.-

 

It’s a great idea.

Chaerin takes him out to dinner after recording one day and fucking blows his mind. It’s like the universe opens up and things he hadn’t ever been able to explain fall neatly into place, like a puzzle clicking together and showing him the whole picture. All the times a woman had held him down, called him good, all of it. There’s a word for the floating and euphoric feeling he’d brushed against, the one he’d fallen head long into with Chaerin during the one night they’d spent together.

And Jiyong was just like him.

She takes him back to Jiyong’s and that first night, he gets to watch her take apart the man he’s looked up to for years just like she’d done to him a year ago. She spreads him out on his white silk sheets and chains his hands above his head with soft, padded restraints. Minho wonders what they’d feel like. Going by the way Jiyong yanks against them only to sink into their grasp with a soft noise of contentment, he imagines it’s nice. He watches as Chaerin strokes Jiyong until he’s hard, bucking into her hand, begging to come. He watches her say no and take her hand away.

He watches Jiyong cry, just like he did. He breaks so beautifully under her hands and Chaerin holds him emotionally and physically, her words washing over them both. It isn’t until she’s cleaned Jiyong up and tucked him away that she turns to him, pulling her red cashmere robe closed as she walks towards him. All at once, he’s quite aware of how hard in his sweatpants that he is.

He flushes and crosses his legs.

“What did I say? You’re safe here,” she says. “Come on. He needs to sleep.”

She takes his hand and pulls him to his feet, tugging him out of the room and down the hall to the living room which is bathed in soft lamp light. He goes when she pushes him towards the couch. She folds her knees under her body as she sits, angled towards him, elbow on the back of the couch and hand supporting her chin as she looks at him.

“So,” she says. “What did you think?”  
           

“That was…” Minho tries hard to think past his dick. “I didn’t realize it could be like that.”

“It can be,” she says. “Jiyong doesn’t mind sharing. If you want to see if it’s something you like, figure it out with people who won’t judge you or share your secrets, we’re willing to offer you that.”

He nods before she can even finish and she laughs.

“Easy,” she says. “You should think about it for a bit and then give us a call.”

“Right, that…that makes sense,” Minho says.

“You want to stay the night?” she asks. “You look a little out of it, was it too much?”

“No, not at all,” Minho says. “I just…I wanted it to be me and then I started thinking about last time and…”

“Oh,” she says, sounding breathless. “You have got to be the most sensitive sub I’ve ever seen. You’ll go down so easy.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

She cups his face with one hand and leans forward to brush their lips together in a kiss. “You’ll see. We’ll show you.”

 

-.-

 

It isn’t until their third time together that Minho gets what Chaerin meant. All it takes for him to reach that floating and pleasant feeling (subspace, Jiyong tells him) is a command to kneel at her feet and praise when he obeys.

Today, Jiyong smiles at him from where he sits on the couch beside Chaerin. He always looks soft, gentle even, after sceneing with Chaerin. It’s crazy, Minho thinks anyways, that Jiyong doesn’t mind letting him see him in such a vulnerable state. Maybe it’s because he sees Minho the same way. Trust and communication, that’s what Chaerin said this sort of relationship, this sort of _arrangement_ , depended on.

Chaerin opens her robe and spreads her legs, fingers sliding through Minho’s hair to pull him right where she wants him. She’s still wet from whatever she and Jiyong had done. He closes his eyes, licks over her cunt and then presses closer so he can slip into the wet heat of her. She sighs out his name.

“Just like that baby, good boy…”

And he shivers, the words caressing him with a tenderness no touch could match.

 

-.-

 

It’s hard to find time when they all have their schedules free, so sometimes they pair off. When it’s just him and Jiyong, Jiyong teaches him the basics of submissive postures and safety tips with regards to knots and ropes and certain toys. The first few times it’s a little embarrassing, but before long it feels almost like the times Jiyong would work with him on his rapping and improvisation skills. Jiyong, after all, is a professional in everything.

When he’s with just Chaerin, she teaches him as well, but it’s a whole new type of teaching. She teaches him how to eat her out, where the sensitive spots in her body are, how to fuck her just right, how to hold himself in positions just because she said so. She teaches him his limits. She teaches him when crying feels like release and when crying feels like the floor has been ripped out from underneath him and he’s left tumbling through the air.

And when all three of them are together…that’s Minho’s favorite.

Sometimes, the focus is Jiyong. Jiyong likes pain more than he does, so sometimes Minho acts as Chaerin’s assistant, handing her paddles or crops or other pain inducing toys that leave Jiyong sobbing beneath her hands. Watching Jiyong feels odd. He sees the appeal from Chaerin’s perspective because he is well…attractive. Sometimes he gets hard when watching and he knows the other two notice because he catches them looking sometimes. They never say anything though, and it’s always Chaerin who gets him off in the end.

But Jiyong watches, gaze heavy and dazed, and that makes it even better for reasons Minho doesn’t want to examine too closely.

Other nights, it’s the other way around, except Minho hates pain. He likes being edged, likes when Chaerin just lets her fingers dance all over his torso and legs and thighs, almost like tickling except it doesn’t make him laugh. Sometimes she ties him up. Lately, she’s had Jiyong hold him down. He’ll lay with his head pillowed in Jiyong’s lap and sometimes, their eyes meet when Minho’s voice breaks on a moan as she leaves him with a ruined orgasm, cum dripping out of his cock as his body spasms.

Tonight, she’s got two fingers up his ass, rubbing firm and hard, rough almost, against his prostate. The cock ring around his arousal keeps him hard even as the treatment edges into the type of pain tinged pleasure he _doesn’t_ like.

“Chaerin, back off,” Jiyong says, voice a soft murmur as tears slide out of Minho’s eyes. “Minho, what’s your safe word?”

“Red,” he says, turning his face into Jiyong’s hand.

“Do you need to use it?” Jiyong asks.

“I…I don’t…”

Chaerin’s fingers slide out and she rubs his thighs as he breaths, trying to steady his heart rate and focus on something other than the pain in his cock.

“I think so,” he says after a moment. “Red, please.”

“Good boy, thank you for using it when you needed,” she says, and that just starts a fresh wave of tears as she undoes the clasp and Jiyong wipes away his tears with his thumbs. “Do you want to come?”

He shakes his head, then nods. “Yes…yes please.”

“Shh, thank you, you’re being so good for me,” Chaerin says, curling her fingers around him and stroking.

It only took a few to make him come, but it’s not even rewarding. It’s just something to get out of his system so he can think past the physical sensations. He floats in a discontented swirl of hormones and emotions as Chaerin cleans him up and Jiyong pets his hair and then they’re pushing him under the covers and it just feels right to have Jiyong there, curled up against his back with Chaerin at his front.

"I worked you a little too hard, huh?” Chaerin asks, fingers trailing over his jaw as Jiyong’s nose brushes the back of his neck. “I’ll keep it in mind next time. For now, just get some rest.”

Minho nods into her neck and lets himself drift away.

 

-.-

 

A few months later, Chaerin offers him a chain with a lock.

“Jiyong has something too,” she says. “But it’s a bit more permanent. I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

Minho swallows, fingers reaching out to touch the cool metal so he can imagine what it would be like around his neck. A sense of being owned, something to wear wherever he went. A reminder.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

Chaerin smiles. “I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t sure. Will you wear this for me, Song Minho and be mine?”

“Yes, Chaerin, of course,” he says.

He kneels for her in the living room and she loops it around his neck, clicking the lock together and fastening it shut with the key. He watches her loop the key through a necklace, a simple chain. She tucks it under her shirt.

He spends the rest of the afternoon at her feet, head pressed to her knee.


End file.
